Sacred Duty, Divine Mission
by Reaper VF6
Summary: A dark elf sorceress calls upon the powers of the warp. A scheming god sends her to Westeros. Discovering the demons of winter she seeks to conquer all before. Asuryan sensing a shift in his scales sends three champions of the Kingdom of Caledor do stop his wayward daughter. Forces of righteous fire clash with hellish cold. The fate of a world hangs in the balance.
1. Mistress of the Cold, Champions of Fire

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**Sacred Duty, Divine Mission**

**Chapter 1: Mistress of the Cold, The Champions of Fire**

In the lands of Ulthuan, the realm of the children of Asuryan, the Asur or in the tongue of the younger races the High Elves stand firm against the never-ending tide of darkness and chaos. The High Elves are divided into several kingdoms each with their own special character and prowess. In the Kingdom of Caledor, one of the most sparsely populated lands consisting of high shear mountains and deep fertile valleys. Though small in number Caledorian Elves boast great power in their smiths, fire mages, and princes who ride the ancient dragons in battle.

In the cloud wreathed peaks of the vast Dragonspine Mountains sits the many fortified manor houses of the nobility of Caledor. In the bowel of extinct volcano rests Alagos-arta. Its large ornate manor is surrounded by shimmering white walls encrusted with runes and wards. The power of these enchantments reflect off the grey weathered rocks. A massive gatehouse guards the one land entrance. It has several towers spaced around its rampart and parapet clad walls. Each tower is topped with a trio of elegantly lethal Eagle Claw bolt throwers. From the towers and manor house flies a banner adorned with runes of denoting power, honor, loyalty, skill, rulership with a fierce storm in the background and a dragon wrapped protectively around a sword in the foreground.

Two large cave entrances dot the smooth curved walls of this ancient volcano. The caves are home to the oldest allies of the Asur, dragons. The oldest son of House Vilyaheru is Prince Rhaltas and he like his cousin Imirk Dragonlord have awoken a star dragon at a young age. His dragon Sethai is one of a dozen star dragon awake at this time. His scales are the dark blue of the deep ocean. Points of captured starlight glitter along the scales of his back. His belly is smooth white the color of sky as seen from below. His head the size of a small house holds eyes of pitch blackness and teeth of yellow ivory. His spear like claws and talons are the color of obsidian. He remembers a time before the coming of Chaos, where the Old Ones where still a young race and dragons reigned supreme. He fought alongside the elves and his kin at the behest of Asuryan and the Dragontamer against the foul forces of Chaos and their demonhosts. Now he fights beside Rhaltas the only elf to wake him since the time of Aenarion.

The other cave belongs to the sun dragon Cynathi who awoke for the youngest son of the Vilyaheru family, the Dragon Mage Hirveren. Cynathi's scales are wrought from molten gold. His belly scales are the pale yellow of the rising sun. Smaller than the mighty star dragons his thirty foot length is more than capable of savaging a regiment of warriors or killing a manticore. His eyes gleam ruby-red and his teeth prefect white as is his claws. He is a young dragon hatched after the demon wars during the twilight of Caradryel's reign.

* * *

As the sun rises the sound of ringing steel can be heard in the fortress' main courtyard. Prince Rhaltas and his personal guard are practicing their weapons skills in the chill mountain air. Rhaltas stands at six feet five inches. His build is a toned athletic frame used to the hardship of war and the way of the warrior. His steel grey eyes narrow as he tracks the blade of his sparring partner. With a deft twist he moves out of the path of the sword. Lunging forward his rune engraved longsword darts at his opponent cobra quick. The magic woven into the blade flashes in the dim light.

Hair the color of sunbeams spills froth from his head. Pleated with iron chords and bound into a tight ponytail the prince looks every inch of the powerful ruler/warrior he is. Rhaltas is related to the ruler of Caledor Prince Imirk Dragonlord. Their family lines stretches back to Caledor Dragontamer and the Conqueror. A linage of great glory and great expectation for him and his brothers.

The weapons practice is interrupted by a booming roar as a dragon of monstrous size burst forth from the cavern wall. With a few lazy beats from his wings, great gusts of wind kick a cloud of dust below. Quickly enveloping the elves below. As the dust settles Sethai lands in the courtyard. As he shifts his bulk and gets comfortable the other elves bow to the ancient drake and greet him with reverence. Settling down the great dragon continues to sleep as the sun's rays slowly warm his cold blood. The elves in the courtyard continue their practice. As the dawn turns to day, a rider enters the courtyard calling for the prince. Taking some water from a servant Rhaltas walks over and asks, "What news do you have for me?"

"Your Grace," the elf begins with a bow, "There is a flight of manticores attacking travelers in the Low Shearpoint Pass."

"I presume that the other horse bound princes could not be bothered to deal with those twisted beasts of chaos." Seeing the elf nod in agreement he continues, "Sethai and I will deal with them by the end of the day. Before you leave help yourself to some food and water. Your horse will be cared for."

"Thank you Your Grace. By your leave I will take you up on your most generous offer."

As the messenger walks off Rhaltas turns to his servants and commands, "Get armor and weapons for myself and Sethai." As the retainers leave Rhaltas walks over to the now awake dragon. Staring his partner in the eyes, he knows dragons do want or suffer weak riders. "We haven't had any challenges recently. These manticores hardly rate that but they could be diverting." The dragon nods in affirmation and lays closer to the ground to make it easier for the house retainers to put his armor on.

* * *

A half hour later both dragon and elf where clad in shinning ithialmar armor; the silver plates and scales are polished to a high shine. The gem stones flash brilliantly in the early afternoon sky. The enchantments create a hazy ripple in the air as the powerful wards envelope both beings. With his rider secured in the saddle, Sethai jumps straight up and spreads his wings. Riding the spiraling air currents he ascends and clears the lip of the caldera in a blue flash. Once out in the cloud streaked sky his natural colors make him invisible to any observer beneath them, even to trained elven eyes.

As they fly along the routes that have been recently attacked by the manticores Rhaltas is getting sleepily. He stifles a yawn as a foul smell drifts across the wind. It has the cloying smell of death, blood, and corruption; all fresh. Sethai smells it too along with its source. With a swooping leftward climbing turn he gets above, downwind, and in line with sun as he stalks his prey. Rhaltas fully awake readies his spear and shield. In the clouds enemies can burst out of anywhere making a readied bow a dangerous gambit.

A break in the cloud appears suddenly, three dark shapes are spotted beneath us. With deadly silence Sethai tilts his body to the right and pulls in a wing. He enters a sharp dive at the chaos creatures. The air rushes through my ears as Sethai dives at the manticores. With silent commands and centuries of fighting side by side I know what my dragon is going to do. He will slash at the center one with talons and claws. At the same time he will incinerate one of the ones on the side leaving me to attack the remaining one.

BOOM… his wings snap open in an instant. His black talons rip into the smaller creature's wing and back. Ichor jets from the cuts as the claws bite deep, gouging out chunks of bone. With a savage roar as blood sprays from the long slash marks, Sethai twists his neck and unleash a jet of blue-white fire. The cloud of death covers the manticore on the right. Both creature's release blood-curdling shrieks of pain. One continues roaring in pain as the powerful fire eats through its chaos warped flesh. It twists in midair trying to smother the flames as it falls ever faster to its death. Pushing off from the middle manticore, Sethai kicks it causing it to head for a landing.

Using the surprise created I stand up in the saddle and watch the third manticore circle the larger dragon waiting for the opportune moment. Whispering a prayer to Asuryan and the command word for the ancient enchantments of my spear, it glows with the trapped power of a lightning bolt. "For Caledor and Ulthuan!" I shout before thrusting my spear forward, just as the manticore managed to, using its smaller size, to slip inside my partner's turning circle and was going to bite the thin wing membrane.

The spear alight with blue energy slams into the creature's head, right between the eyes. With a deft twist I destroy the creature's brain as burning ichor leeches from the wound. Withdrawing my weapon I watch briefly as gravity takes the body and plunges into the rocks below. With a flick I bring the weapon back into its ready position as we continue the hunt for the remaining manticore.

* * *

The cold seas north of Ulthuan churn and an icy green spray covers the decks of a mighty dragon ship. The ship bears banners of a swooping white sea hawk on a starry blue ocean, the personal colors of Sea Lord Aislinn. The Sea Lord walks over to the shuddering figure with an easy grace of those born to the sea. Shouting his voice easily overcomes the dim of the ocean, "Enjoying your voyage young mage," he starts off in a light-hearted manner. Turning serious he continues, "These seas are nothing like the skies above. They are far less forgiving and much colder."

"No Sea Lord I'm not. The cold does not bother me so much. It is the damnable rocking," replies Hirveren of House Vilyaheru. "Still this discomfort will not hinder me in battle, for there is glory to be won killing the hated Norse and other foes of the Asur." With that declaration the air around Hirveren warms significantly. Turning to look out over the sea the mists part to reveal a large squadron of elvish ships. Ten mighty Eagle ships cut through the waves like a blade, swift with deadly grace and purpose. On the flanks of the fleet groups of three Hawkships act as the scouts and relay point for message's sent from the battle groups Skycutters. In the center rest a pair of Dragonships; _Mathlann's Glory_ and the _Fire of the Asur_. The battle group is loaded up several regiments of Sea Guard and Shadow Warriors. The mission is to wipe out a Norse village that is being used a hub of pirates and rumored to be under the control of a powerful Chaos Champion.

"Good," replies the Sea Lord, "You have done my elves and I a great service Dragon Mage. You will have your enemies to slay." With that Aislinn left the young mage and headed back to the bridge of his ship.

They sailed for the better part of two months, the skycutter's and hawkship's ensured that no vessels warned the Norse. The sea skirmish's where quick and brutal. The hawkships surround the doomed vessel and then as one they turn into the vessel and charge, bolt-throwers firing as fast as possible. Then the skycutters descend and pepper the decks with bow and light bolt-thrower fire aimed at masts, sails, and crew. Once rendered immovable the Hawks close and plunge heavy bolts straight at the waterline sinking the ship and leaving no survivors.

* * *

As they approach the inlet the Sea Lord has his mages weave a thick fog around the ships and create a gentle breeze to push it inland. Shrouded, the ships close quietly. Eagle-eyed sentries posted in the fighting tops let loose single shafts from their bows at the cliff faces, killing off Norscan scouts. Getting closer the Sea Guard form their fighting ranks as the Shadow Warriors move ahead in small rowboats. Hirveren and his dragon Cynathi are circling slowly in the heavy clouds waiting for an opportune moment to strike.

The Shadow Warriors finding no warmachines guarding the makeshift harbor and beach signal the fleet that now is the time to strike. At once the sound of CRACK…TWANG…SWOOSH reverberates through the shore as hundreds of white fletched bolts pour from the sky. The dozens of Eagle-Claws were firing with their cluster of sword sized bolts. Each one bears the runes of fire, on impact they spray the blue-white flames of Asuryran in a wide circle, incinerating anything it touches. As the Norscans try to rally, out of the smoke and mists comes the fighting blocks and serried ranks of the Sea Guard. Bows drawn and ready, at the commands of the Sea Helms leading them the lines of white fire, more arrows plunge into the battle piercing flesh and reaping a toll of death. They fire three more volleys, as the Chaos leaders are killed from behind, black arrows sticking from backs and throats, they died with horns on their lips preparing to rally their warriors.

Bows slung the Guard readies their spears and shields as the Norscans charge, led by several Chosen of Chaos they bellow foul prayers with twisted words. These antics would have had lesser warriors, those from the Old World shaking not the Asur, meeting their cries with silence each elf prepares to strike. As the barbarians get closer the fighters of the back ranks fire a last desperate volley straight through the assembled ranks seconds before the two lines clash. As arrows whiz by Menthalas head he ignores them, he trust his brothers aim and watches as the leading line of Marauders fall to the ground dead or wounded to be trampled by the rest of the horde.

Helgelts winces as an arrow hits shoulder, with a grunt he pulls out the barded shaft and continues charging with his men. Rising his shield as the lines clash at the last second saved his life as he hears a single word in High Elvish. Thrust. Ssss…Thunk the first line of spears are thrusted forward. A dull clang is heard by Helgelts as his shield is hit. The sounds of screaming and cracking means that most of his brothers were less fortunate than him. Looking up in the faces of the elves he does not see blood or battle lust but cold grim determination. Ssss…Thunk, the second line of spears is thrusted home, more screams, and more death. Helgelts just barely survived. Praying to Khorne he readies his ax only to see another line of silver points coming forward. Ssss…Thunk, the three rank attacks wiping out more Nosrsemen with ease. Hoping that his prays were answered Helgelts roars, "Blood for the Blood…" His battle cry is ended shortly by another, Ssss…Thunk as the final rank of spears is rammed into the fray. Seeing their leader die the Norse break and run before the elves, who chase them down with ease. In doing so they run into their primary goal, the Champion of Khorne that Aislinn wants killed.

* * *

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!" the Champion roars and cuts down a dozen of his fleeing men. Emboldened by their leader's appearance the Norse charge again with berserker fury. Launching themselves into the elven phalanxes they loss many more warriors but dozens of elves lay dead as well. Axes forged in hellfire and quenched in blood are sung with reckless abandon. Arms are cleaved off in a bloody spray, as chants to the blood god ring in the Norsecan ears. Shields shatter as the elves desperately try to ward off the heavy-handed blows. Spears shatter on breastplate and bone as the Sea Guard fight back against the berserker's frenzy. Swords ring as the Sea Masters and Sea Helms shout orders and bellow challenges to the enemy Chosen.

The combat devolves into a swirling melee as the Norse try to break the spear walls of the Sea Guard. Bolstered by the discipline of the Sea Helms, the Sea Guard maintain their formations killing dozens with thrust of their spears. The ground already muddy is soaked with the blood of both Asur and human. As the wounded slowly drown or are crushed in the dance of blades. The battle draws the attention of the God of Slaughter and he smiles at the death and carnage.

A clarion note rings out from a silver war horn. Its purity gives pause to the accursed followers of Chaos. Aislinn wants to end this battle and has summoned his Dragon Mage to do it. Calling on the powers of the Gem of Sunfire Hirveren fells the flames inside him swell as well as Cynthai. Diving the Sun Dargon's roar and shadow cause many Chaos Warriors to panic and run. They are killed as the Sun Dragon lets forth his firey breath wiping out a section of the village. Calling upon the winds of magic Hirveren casts a powerful Flaming Sword of Rhuin on his ancient Sunstaff. Instead of being engulfed by normal magical fire the blessed runes on it change it to the blue-white flames of Asuryan.

Aiming for the ax wielding Champion Hirveren shouts, "For Caledor, For Ulthuan, For the Asur!" before striking lightning quick. The holy fire burns through the Champions foul protections with little effort. The cutting edge of the staff finds the gap between helm and cuirass and removes his head in a single bloodless blow. The battle finished the Champions demise the Asur raze the village with fire and fury. They then disappear into the smoke choked mist.

* * *

In the cramped confines of the Imperial Capital of Altdorf sits a single estate that holds buildings of a delicate make colored in pure whites and royal blues. Guarded by a detachment of White Lions, Swordmasters, Sea Guard and their attendant lords is the Embassy of the High Elves. It stands out among the squat, dark colored buildings that the humans favor. The embassy usually holds the ambassador, his staff, a few loremasters, and an archmage. Currently there is a second archmage in resident, Master Thelian of House Vilyaheru. He is the middle son of Vilyaheru House and is one of the few mages from Caledor to master all of the eight lores of magic and the arts of High Magic from Saphery.

He is here at the behest of High Loremaster Teclis to show the strength of the High Elf commitment to their alliance with the Empire of Sigmar. He is to act as an adviser and teacher to the Imperial Bright Wizards. They are schooled in the lore of fire and as a Caledorian he has a natural affinity toward fire. Thelian however considers it a colossal waste of his time and skill teaching a bunch of uncultured, unrefined, idiotic over-evolved monkeys to wield the dangerous art of magic. Still it is a request from one of the Defenders of Ulthuan and his honor as a mage of Caledor did not allow him to decline. Still he thinks as he leaves the embassy this meeting tonight might prove distracting.

Looking at the dirty streets Thelian can't help but sneer in disgust at the primitive nature of man. Yet looking at the towering citadels and temples He is also impressed how far this race has come. From living in caves to fighting off demons, maybe the younger races have more value than being an extra line of defenses before the shores of Ulthuan.

* * *

Leaving the Embassy he is surrounded by his escort of two Swordmasters and four Knights of the Reiksguard. With a nod to the quicksilver warriors of Hoeth, Thelian turns to the leader of his guard Gergor Von Detleff, and speaks in the human tongue, "Lets us go to the Baron's party Sir Detleff. The fastest route please."

With a bow Sir Von Detleff replies, "At once your grace but I must warn you the fastest route will have go through Tavern Row. There is a chance for some unpleasantries to happen. I would not want to risk the honor and hospitality of the Emperor because of some stupid drunks."

With a wave of his hand Thelian replies, "Your Emperor's honor will not be tarnished by the drunken actions of a few barbarians. I want to get to this party as fast as possible, dance with as few people as possible, and stay as long as honor demands. I find your mages insufferable."

Laughing Von Detleff smiles, "Of course your grace." With a quick command the Knights move into position ahead and to the sides of the mage and his guards and begin elbowing the growing crowd out of the way. The torches are being lit as the sun dips lower behind the mountains. Night is falling and the evening crowd of street urchins, whores, cut-throats, and drunks are coming out of the woodwork. With a snort Thelian is cursing Teclis for forcing him to this hellhole.

The group makes good time through the city. The crowds are not thick in the foreign affluent section but the Baron's ballroom overlooks the river and its harbor and it is on the complete other side. It is around dinner time as they enter Tavern Row. Bars, pubs, and brothels as far as the road goes. Hundreds of buildings were the locals are getting drunk and horny in the thousands. This does not worry the veteran warriors.

* * *

A woman garbed in dark greens pushes her way to through Row. Trying to find the Asur Embassy she unknowingly entered the territory of one of the nastier street gangs who love this sort of target; female, beautiful, young, and most importantly alone. They start to trail her, ten men in front, five on each side, and another ten in the back. Their predatory lust filled stares do not go unnoticed. Grabbing her cloak with one hand the other grips a hidden dagger she picks up her pace hoping to get out of danger.

These fools think they are threatening, thinks Yára, the only threat they pose is forcing her to fight and getting into trouble with Imperial Authorities. Not wanting to let their prize escape the men surround the young woman. With a harsh arrogant tone the leader steps forward and draws a large serrated blade stained red with blood of countless dead, "Its' awfully dangerous for a young lady to be out at night. Why don't you let me and the boys here take you somewhere safe." The rest of the chuckle darkly at their boss's words.

One last blast of wind whips down the street before the air becomes still in the flickering torch-light. As the pungent odors of piss, shit, ale, and unwashed bodies fill the air the young woman's hood slips and the men go from shocked to dark glee in a heartbeat. Thelian and his party walk into line of sight of the soon to be fight. "Ignore it your grace. A simple brawl of commoners. The city guard will deal with them soon enough. Let us take the road the up ahead to avoid this," says Von Detleff.

"Normally I would agree with you and let the rabble fight it out but what your eyes can't see, mine can is that a young women is at the center of that group and would like our aid," replies Thelian. Just as he finished speaking the group attacks the young woman. As she deftly dodges the clumsy sword thrusts of the first two assailants she feels the winds of magic being manipulated. As Yara begins to weave defensive wards around her a small fireball explodes in the air above them. Her attackers look scared and try to flee but their movements are slow and getting slower.

"Now that that is over," says Thelian as he finishes casting both a weak fireball and miasma into the street battle. "Have these men be taken to the watch for attempted kidnapping and murder of someone under the protection of Asur Embassy. Also tell the Baron that I cannot attend this evening. An important friend from Lothern has arrived. Swordmasters attend to the woman and let us head back to the Embassy. Good night Sir Detleff." Leaving the knights with their orders Thelian and his party quickly return to the safety that the Embassy provides.

* * *

Placing a decanter of Caledorian wine and two chilled glasses on a small table between the two elves Thelian pours the citrus white into each glass, takes a sip, and begins, "Tell me young one what does a spellweaver of the Asrai doing in the capital of the Human Empire and please remove your hood maiden. I like to look upon the face of those I speak to."

Mirroring her host Yara takes a sip of the wine and her senses have taken flight. Placing the glass down with liquid grace she removes her hood in a single twists of her wrist. White hair cascades wave-like down to the small of her back. Her green eyes are flecked with gold. She has the ageless body of an elf. "I'm Yara Master Mage and would humbly request to travel to the White Tower and learn the magic's of my kin."

"What you ask Yara is unprecedented. I by the way am Loremaster Prince Thelian Vilyaheru of Caledor. Your request will take time to consider. Prove yourself to me in a spar and I will personally take you before the Phoenix King and the High Loremaster to plead your case. Fail and your dream will never be realized."

"I accept your challenge Master Vilyaheru," says Yara with steel in her voice.

* * *

Glad to be leaving early Thelian tries to roll over in bed but the weight of another is preventing him. Opening a heavy-lidded eye he is greeted by the naked statuesque form of Yara. With a smile he remembers the previous night with relish. Befriending the young spellweaver was the only good thing to come out of this trip. "Wake up melar," I say in quiet voice as I trace little circles up and down her smooth tone back.

"Mmmmm…Don't stop my naur." She mumbles into my chest. As much as I want to listen we have a boat to catch.

"Today is the day we leave for Ulthuan. Unless you wish to stay in bed with me for the rest of the day melar."

Yara jumps up and straddles me, the covers falling from her narrow shoulders and granting me an image of sinful beauty. With a quick kiss to her lips we both ready our belongings for a long sea voyage.

Years later each brother are haunted by dreams of winter and a cold evil laugh of seduction. This and the compulsion to meet together in the Shrine of Asuryan, before the Sacred Fire.

* * *

In the ice choked land of Naggaroth lies the Kingdom of Malekith the Witch King of the Druchii or Dark Elves. The twisted traitors of the Asur. They consider the other races fit only for enslavement and they live in a land of frozen in pain and suffering. Vast cities and watchtowers fill the bleak rugged landscape as slaves used to their deaths in toil, in combat, and in ritual sacrifice to the whims of their masters.

In one of the underground palaces far from the noted cities of the dark elves lives the Sorceress Vanmoriel. She is one of the more powerful of Morthai followers and a woman of twisted, perverse, and dark tastes even among her dark elves. She seeks like all Druchii to conqueror, enslave, and sate her lusts for power and pleasure. Her power is also her curse. She like all the other witch elves and dark elves covet the position of those above them. Considering themselves better, stronger, and more devious assassination is a valid and oft used method of advancement. This has bred a strong paranoid streak in all Druchii and is one of the reasons behind her banishment.

Vanmoriel wakes up in the late morning. Sitting up in bed she gives the corpse of her lover a quick shove off the bed. Stretching like a panther she slips from under the silk sheets and heads to the washroom. As she walks the ice colored floors are mired by bloody footprints and droplets from her hair. Once cleaned she dawns a shear robe of midnight black that is made from human hair and spider silk. Her marble white skin shines with unholy beauty. Her eyes are of the deepest blue and can mesmerize the weak-willed. The halls are silent as she makes her way to her warded laboratory. Speaking many passwords and incantations to remove the deathtraps she enters her sanctum.

* * *

Vanmoriel seeks to find the power to avenge herself on the witch elves that conspired to remove her. Placing the bloody and still dripping item she brought with her on the large central altar made from bone taken from the still living bodies of pure maiden slaves, both human and elf. The runes craved into the bone are dark and twisted. Homage to powers that mortals should not and seek not to comprehend. The last piece to this ritual is the heart freshly taken from close kin. Her "dearest sister" give this to her last night. In the throes of night of wild passion and lust it was easy to bind her and seal her powers. It took her several long hours of fun with such a flawless canvas to defile before cutting it out.

Placing it on the altar she flicks a switch that beheads several young male slaves that were bound in the room. Their blood and souls powering the initial part. The air grows coppery as gallons of rich red liquid is consumed by the altar. She chants in time with the dark pulses in the air. As the magic reaches a crescendo she slits her throat and gives herself up to the foul powers of chaos to grant her demonhood.

* * *

The Lord of Change and Twisted Schemes, the Chaos God named Tzeentch has other plans for Vanmoriel. He discovered a world isolated from the warp. Other powers guard their realm well for they are insulated so much that demons could not manifest there. Deciding to grant Vanmoriel a version of her request he allows her to keep her powers and transports her whole palace to the far north of this world.

Once Vanmoriel awakens she will be in tundra, a glacial palace that sits atop several ley lines of magic. She will become a version of the Witch King, she will the Mistress of Winter. She will have an entire world to subjugate to her whims. With that Tzeentch casts his spell and the warp crackles with shrill high-pitched laughter.

* * *

Asuryan sensing the scales that he holds shift, an imbalance is formed. His scared duty is to ensure that the warp remains balanced. Using his limited direct influence he gathers three champions and seeks to rectify it. The compulsions grow stronger and soon each brother travels to the Shrine of Asuryan. Rhaltas from Caledor, Thelian from Hoeth, and Hirveren from Lothern. With faint shock and amusement the three greet each other warmly. Caledorian elves only feel truly comfortable when with their own kin. They are guided by the stoic and silent Phoenix Guard Captain Lord Caradryan himself before the Pillar of Flame.

The fire pulses with life as powerful magics flood the room. The god does not speak with his subjects as much as imparts his mission on to them. The fire increases in its brightness with each passing second. A powerful clap occurs and the light returns to normal. The three elf lords are no longer in the camber. In their place are the runes of duty, service, and Asuryan. The chief god of the elves and order has selected his champions and sent to a faraway land called Westeros with several tasks.


	2. Arrival: of the Asur, of the Druchii

**Sacred Duty, Divine Mission**

**Chapter 2**

**Arrival: of the Asur, of the Druchii**

A pillar of pure white fire slams into the ground with a resounding BOOM. As the flare dies down and leaves only scorched blackened grass figures are formed from the light. Three are tall slender warriors of the Asur. Two are massive dragons. Another three are but horses of common descent, no need to anger Kurnous by endangering elven steeds. The party as all the supplies needed for an extended campaign; weapons, armor, clothes both common and noble, food, water, and other necessary supplies.

In the far north a multicolored portal forms in a deep chasm. The ice grinds and rends as it is reshaped to suit the taste of its new mistress. Crags form as a tower made of blacken ice rises. Runes made of blood are burned into the sides as thick walls cradle it protectively as the  
daughter of the cold north slumbers her powers spent. A wave of darkness flows southward causing fear and panic to briefly fill the hearts of every living thing. It is as the Starks say, "_Winter is Coming."_

Leaving the shelter of the woods the three brothers take stock of their situation and mission from their god. "It seems that this land is called Westeros and is even more backward than the Empire," says Thelian with obvious disdain in his voice. "Still we have our commands find the dragon queen and help her regain her birthright to fight the coming darkness. Now the question is brothers where are we and where do we start?"

Hirveren answering his brother, "I'm guessing we are in the North based on the temperature and terrain if the knowledge given is correct. Then we should seek out Winterfell for that is their version of Tor Caled and the ruling family there should be able to house us. Depending on how much of our true origin we reveal."

"Very true brother,' says Rhaltas, "I think we should conceal our origins and our dragons. Thelian cast a glamour of concealment on the dragons." Turning to the great drakes, "Old friends stay hidden but be ready to aid us." Both dragons nod at his wish. "We will say we are from land far across the sea, the Kingdom of Caledor. After all the best lies contain parts of the truth in then. Now let us saddle up and find this Tor Winterfell." He says with a sly grin.

It took several days if not weeks of traveling they managed to find a group of hunters in one of the many patches of woods this land holds. After a brief conversation with the humans, Thelian initial assessment of their technological level rings true. The trio learned of the location of Winterfell and the identity of its ruler, Eddark Stark. It was still a far distance to travel. As they continue to travel through this frigid land Rhaltas grows jealous of his two brothers. They being mages easily block out the frigid wind and warm the air around themselves leaving him to shiver in the night air.

* * *

As the Asur party makes their way to Winterfell, Lord Eddard "Ned" Stark is taking his two sons Robb and Jon and his ward Theon Greyjoy out on a hunt for boar and deer. They have been out for a fortnight and have little to show for. "Come boys let's check the next valley, we'll stay for a few nights and if we don't get anything we head back. Cat is probably worried." Says Ned as the cold wind blows gently across the hills. A chorus of yes sir is mumbled from the three young men behind him. The four Northmen enter the valley and lay down a dozen snares and prepare a few hides and await warding off the cold with sips of wine as they sit around a small covered fire.

They have entered the same valley in a small tight column with Rhaltas at the head in full armor though heavy and intimidating it is better to be safe than sorry. His blessed spear in one hand and a lit torch in the other. Thelian rides behind weaving wards and detection spells to protect from any future ambush. Hirveren rides last with the words of a fireball ready to leave his lips. They already have encountered some of the local bandits and defeated them quickly and contemptuously. As they ride they come in range of the Stark camp, Thelian telling his brothers stop and decide to ride close by it making enough noise to attract attention. Hiding their ears, Rhaltas canters forward toward the smell of fire on the winds.

Jon who is standing watch here the horse approaching, griping his sword he quickly wakes the other three men with him. Grabbing a torch Nedd as the boys spread out with sword and bow at the ready. Calling out in a loud voice ringing with experience on the battlefield, "Whoever is out there approach my voice slowly. No need for any fighting." The sounds of the horse get louder and a torch is seen.

The sounds grow louder and the figure steps into the hazy flickering torch light. It is a man of a tall athletic build. He is clad in a fine silver armor with a medium length spear with a large leaf shape blade in his right hand and a torch in the left. A horn wrapped in gold bands with deep blue runes hangs at his side. He sits with an easy grace, an unnatural grace. Nedd squinting in the light can't make out any major features of the rider calls out, "Hello friend, where are you going armed and armored in such a manner?"

With what sounds like a faint laugh the rider answer in an arrogant and haughty tone that sets everyone on edge, "I don't think we are friends, for we have just met. As for my dress, well one could never be too careful for dark things like to stalk at night. As for my destination I'm heading to Tor Winterfell in search of its ruler. Besides "friend" I would like to know who I'm speaking with."

"What do you seek in Winterfell and with the Starks?" asks Nedd warily.

"You have not answered my question. If you consider us friends just making demands is not very friendly." Replies Rhaltas in a mocking tone that has a dangerous tilt to it. Everyone grips their weapons tighter. Nedd not wanting a fight decides to act more diplomatically.

"I'm Eddard Stark of Winterfell and you sir?"

"Prince Rhaltas Vilyaheru, Lord Stark. May I dismount and call my brothers we have been riding all day."

Sensing no hostility from the prince Nedd nods granting him permission. Rhaltas hops from the saddle, moving like flowing water he brings the horn to his lips and blows a single clarion note of silver. Within five minutes two more riders enter the camp, both dressed similar to Rhaltas get down from their horses with the same fluid movement. "My brothers," gestures Rhaltas, "My middle brother Thelian." Pointing to the scholarly one in the rich blue robes. "The youngest of our house Hirveren." Pointing to the robe and armor clad man who possess roguish good looks and a strange staff.

Nedd responses by introducing his sons and Theon and asks, "What brings you to Westeros, where did you come from, and why are you seeking to visit Winterfell and myself?"

Rhaltas answer the middle question with so much pride in his voice the air became heavy, "We are from the Kingdom of Caledor on the island of Ulthuan. It lies far beyond the western sea. More than a year's journey fraught with danger and death."

Thelian answers the next part, "We were shipwrecked. We managed to escape as the ship was dashed against some off shore rocks. We wanted to visit the lord city because I figure to gain knowledge about a strange land is go to its province's capital. The town/fortress usually has the best records of lore, knowledge of current events, and current gossip."

Hirveren answers the reaming parts, "Why else would one travel but for the glory to be won charting new lands, discovering new peoples, and besting dread foes in mortal combat." He says with relish and excitement. The humans could swear it suddenly got a little warmer with Hirveren declaration.

"Aye that it does." Nedd says in reply to Thelian. Looking at the rest of the party he continues, "Since you have survived a shipwreck I'm guessing all you saved was what you have on your backs and in your saddle bags?" seeing them he decides to offer them, "And in need of a place to stay. Help with this hunt and any other tasks that surface and you can call Winterfell your home till you feel like leaving."

Surprised Rhaltas is first to speak, "I thank you Lord Stark for your kindness, we won't betray your gratitude. And in return you have the friendship of House Vilyaheru for your honorable conduct and offer to us, complete strangers." His brothers are stunned at this display. Rhaltas himself can't believe what he just said but it felt right and like someone was guiding him, using him as puppet.

* * *

With the conversation ended for now I tell my family to get some sleep. Both Hirveren and Jon volunteered to stand first watch. After some muffled conversation Hirveren has gained a small measure of respect for Jon and his hardships. As the wind picks up and the night's bleak darkness envelopes them they move quickly to sit by the fire their blades and staff rest by their sides as the cold night continues.

The next day brings a fruitful conclusion to an otherwise pathetic hunting trip. With the newcomers help the Stark's manage to track down and kill a pair of boars in the forest. With their kills secured to a pair of branches they break camp and head back to Winterfell. It was several days till the massive fortress came into view. Though impressive to the natives of Westeros its walls are smaller than even the most poorly defended elven fortress and thus did not illicit much in the way of admiration or wonder in the foreigners. On the walk back Robb asks, "How does the cold not bother you Lords Vilyaheru?"

"My clothes and that of Hirveren are a lot warmer on the inside and are of a special material. Rhaltas has fought and survived in colder places then this and is used to it," Thelian tells the young wolf with a grin as he sees Rhaltas conceals a cold induced shudder.

"It is an impressive home Lord Stark but compared to the fortresses of Caledor it is smaller than the weakest town," remarks Rhaltas.

"Really," Nedd replies with shock, "Winterfell is one of the more powerful castles in Westeros. What kind of wars and enemies do you have in Ulthuan that requires more?"

"The stuff of nightmares." Was the only reply he got.

Entering the fortress Nedd introduced us to the rest of his family; His wife Catelyn, his two younger sons Bran and Rickon, His daughters Sansa and Arya. We then gave the boars to the cooks to prepare and set about finding our quarters. Like most castles it is cold because of the stonework, doubly so in this weather. The first thing that Rhaltas has his brothers do to the given quarters is inscribe runes of warming on the walls, bed, and floor. At least they will be comfortable and not suffer the cold any longer. When that is done we simply explore the place until a small feast is held in our honor.

Days later Hirveren is wandering the castle looking for my family. Finding Thelian in the library I leave him to his study and head outdoors to find the sparring ring for that is where I will find Rhaltas. In the courtyard Robb, Jon, and Theon have challenged Rhaltas to several spars. With a smile I see Lord Stark and his daughter Arya watching I walk over to them and nodded in greeting. "I think your boys are going to be nursing some serious bruises when these fights are over.

"You're on," says Arya with a hopeful smile, "My brothers are great fighters."

"That may be true but my brother has been trained since he could walk and has been tempered in the fires of war, he is one of the best swordswomen I have ever seen. He is absolutely deadly with his spear and unstoppable with his longsword. Plus all of us are skilled with the bow but he is better than us two. Ask for some archery lessons since you were pretty good with the bow already." He remarks. Recalling the time where Bran was practicing with his bow and keep missing and Arya stole the bull eye from him embarrassing him in front of his parents, guests, brothers, and Theon.

* * *

Standing in front of him is Theon, "Just cause you're a prince don't mean I won't go easy on ya. For I'm ironborn." Ignoring his stupid banter Rhaltas eye's flash with the joy of battle as he readies his spear and charges Theon. With a loud ringing clang the butt of his spear meets his chest in a blink of the eye. Theon reeling and gasping for air struggles to regain his footing.

Theon charges with a several blows; downward, upward, diagonal, and across. Each one would have been fatal if they hit. Moving like water Rhaltas parries each strike, he is toying with the boy, it is clear to everyone that Theon can't win and the fight is only continuing because Rhaltas is allowing it. Theon getting more and more angry at his own failings charges blindly with rage. Catching his legs with the shaft he twists the spear and sends Theon stumbling sideways. With a lurch Theon tries to recover by it only brings Rhaltas's fist into his mouth knocking him to the ground. As his eyes regain their focus he sees and feels cold metal against his throat. "Yield" he commands in a voice as cold as the grave. The fight lasted less than three minutes.

"I yield, I yield," Theon says in raspy voice. As Robb helps him to his feet the whole castle loos on in awestruck silence.

Looking at Jon he says, "Your next." Cleaning his spear off Rhalts goes and places it on the rack. Walking back to the ring he draws his longsword, crafted in Vauls Anvil by Caledor Dragontamer, from its sheath. As the metal slides out it fills the courtyard with a ring. The silver ithialmar is covered in gold runes that signify its powerful enchantments. Its hilt and pommel are shaped like a roaring dragon and is beset with two large sapphires and a single ruby. He takes his stance; body angled to one side to present a smaller target and guard the vitals. Blade held in front of him pummel just above the navel. Sword held diagonal across shielding forward shoulder, lung, and heart. Legs tense and eyes tracking target.

Jon grips a longsword with two hands and holds the blade right in front of him. He is tilted slightly to one side. Moving more cautiously than Theon he moves in with quick feints and rapid slices, testing Rhaltas's speed and reach. After arm numbing blocks Jon knows that Rhaltas is faster, despite the weapons being the same size. Rhaltas has the superior reach as well with his height, an advantage that Jon has to get around.

He is quickly put on the defensive however as Rhaltas comes at him as a whirling dance of blades. Jon quickly shifts back as he meets his fast downward cuts and lighting fast thrusts. Striking outward lighting quick he manages to interrupt his attack pattern. Using this pause to step into his guard Jon swings. The heavier longsword sails through air with a whistle as Rhaltas simply moved backwards outside of the killzone. With a surprise grunt Jon unbalanced because of the swing stumbles forward. Rhaltas expecting it grasp his arm and pushes him further away. Jon uses the throw to gain distance on his opponent, regain his balance and begins a series of cuts and lunges aimed at the chest and shoulder. Unwilling to end it so soon Rhaltas parries each blow expertly. The courtyard mud is churned as the two fighters weave around, Jon trying to use its whole size to gain any advantage.

A quick feint triggers a poorly timed lunge from Jon. Rhaltas smirks as he catches his blade and drives his foot into his chest. Though the leather armor cushions the blow, Jon still grunts in pain as the air is driven from his lungs. Slipping back he swings his blade wildly in front of him blocking the onslaught of thrusts. Using blade and the hilt Rhaltas stops Jon's next slash and twists the longsword from his grasp, throwing it to the mud. With a quick kick to the legs, Jon is on his knees with a cold razor sharp edge pressing gently against his neck. Looking over his shoulder he sees aloof arrogance etched into Rhaltas. "I Yield," he says around the blade.

"You fought well young wolf. Next time control your aggression. Release it in time with each strike, for it lend them power and purpose. Looking at Robb he smiles his typical I'm-holier-than-you smile. Robb steps into the circle and braces himself. Rhaltas deciding that these fights are boring decides to end it quick. With eye-blurring speed he attacks Robb. Striking first he knocks the blade from Robb's hand, Robb to the ground and places the tip of the sword against his chest. Everyone is speechless and stunned into statue-like states. The fight lasted twenty seconds.

"Like I said it was no contest." Hirveven walks away from the stunned Starks.

* * *

That is how the next three months were spent. Studying the library and learning the history of this land. The lore-master of Winterfell does not have much information only the Citadel of the Maesters in Oldtown or the capital King's Landing has the information we seek. In the meantime the Stark family has proven to be less troublesome than most of their race. Hirveren has spent a great deal of time with Arya. Her energetic nature and desire to be a warrior has endeared herself to the living flamethrower, Thelian notices that Bran has some magical potential but does not wish to take up student he deems undisciplined, and Rhaltas has been teaching Robb, Jon, and even Nedd the finer points of warfare. The days pass by slowly as the elves learn more about this land and its ruling families. It is similar to the way the Empire is set up but lacking the overriding authority that the Emperor possess over his nobles. It seems to the elves that humans just like and resort to fighting with little to no reason.

* * *

(**Timeskip: 6 Months later)**

* * *

In the capital of Westeros, King's Landing, in the halls of the Red Keep the former Hand of the King Jon Arryn breathes his last breath. His last words to the King, "The seed is strong," are ignored as fever induced ravings. As he lays dead his body is being watched by a pair of blond haired twins. Both have smug grins on their face as they gaze upon the fruits of their labor. With Arryn's death, the King needs a new Hand and he has only one person he can trust, Nedd Stark. The ravens are sent and a royal procession is readied, King Robert Baratheon and his court is heading north.

Bran climbing throughout the broken towers of the ancient fortress is first to see the royal procession. Nimbly climbing down he lands in front of a thatched roof with his direwolf Summer and mother waiting. "How many times Bran have I told not to climb," chides Cat.

Looking at his feet Bran mumbles into his shirt. Perking up he gushes out, "I saw them mom. The kingsguard, the banners with the lion and the stag, and at least a dozen carriges."

With a smile Cat continues, "Still no climbing. Now run and tell your father." With that command he darts off and rushes to find Nedd. The previous nights, Cat and Nedd have been arguing on whether he should accept the role as Hand of the King. Nedd argues that it is his duty to help his king. Cat says that he is not looking at Robert as his king but his friend. Also that Nedd doesn't owe him anything since the war. Plus the every time a Stark went south they didn't return alive. Despite all this Nedd's sense of honor and duty can't be overcome and he still decides to agree with Robert and be his Hand and serve the Realm.

The whole of Winterfell is assembled in the courtyard. The air is still and quiet as the Court files into the courtyard. As the King dismounts, everyone kneels. Everyone but three. We are princes of Caledor, we bow to no king except the one on the Phoenix throne and only then when absolutely necessary. This fat fool of human should be paying us homage for gracing them with our presence thinks the High Elves. Seeing this the court whispers at this insolence, whereas Robert's famous rage is growing.

"Who are you and how dare you disrespect the king!" Robert roars his face turning red from rage. The court jeers quietly behind the king's back.

Stepping forward Rhaltas begins, "We pay no homage because we are not your subjects…You're Grace." Adding the last words as a mocking afterthought. With his normal smile on he continues, "We are Princes from the Kingdom of Caledor on the island of Ulthuan, which lies far beyond the western sea.'

"I don't give a bloody shit where you are from. You are in my kingdom so you will kneel." Commands the Robert in a now full blown rage at being mocked.

"You are not worthy of my respect. For all I see is a man of anger, bluster, and fat. Earn my respect by a trial of arms…You're Grace. Name your champion. If you win I will most humbly apologize on behalf of myself, my brothers, and my kingdom and you will get your homage. If I win I get one boon from the King of Westeros. This is deal will be bound by the honor of their respective thrones. Agreed?"

In his anger he disregards his advisors and agrees. "Ser Jamie will fight you," he snarls. At this a handsome man with an arrogant smirk that rivaled my own looks at me. His armor is thick plate over mail. Both a shining gold with a long white cape trailing behind. It is an impressive suit by human standards.

* * *

"Before we begin as the challenged you may impose terms or restriction on the duel. If you choose not then it will be fought by the standards of the Phoenix Throne." Says Rhaltas to the human knight in a matter-of-fact voice.

Jamie believing that this will be no contest lets his pride and arrogance cloud his judgment, "You can use whatever skill you posse but it will not work." He says with a pride that rivals Rhaltas's own.

"Very well." Turning to the Lord of Winterfell he says, "Lord Stark you will be the judge on the manner in which this duel is fought. Those breaking the terms will forfeit their honor as well as their life." The court is shocked with the Queen about to interrupt but is held back by Robert and her own brother's reputation, the must not be so publicly tarnished.

Both fighters square off weapons drawn and bodies tense. Nedd calls out begin and but move in for the attack. Jamie bring his blade diagonally upward as a feint he is ready to draw across the chest and belly before aiming for the leg. Jamie moves with prefect form as befits his training, experience, and reputation of being one of the best swordsman in Westeros. If he were fighting any other human foe they would have lost.

Before his blade even makes past his waist he feels a sharp cold feeling erupt in his chest. For as fast as he is Rhaltas is so much faster. One of the last things that Jamie Lannister; Knight of Kingsguard, King Slayer, Heir of Tywin Lannister is the rune encrusted sliver ithialmar longsword that has been stabbed deep inside his chest. He watches as streams of his blood trickles down its mirror like surface. Looking up he sees the cold grim determination filled grey eyes that belong to Rhaltas. The vision slowly turns black as Jamie falls to the mud dead.

* * *

The crowd is dead silent. One of the best if not the best fighter in all of Westeros just died in less than a minute. Cersei cries out and runs to her brother's corpse. Cradling the body her wails of grief echo in the courtyard "Dead I want them all DEAD!" she screams over and over. The Lannister house soldiers ready their weapons and advance only to be met by House Stark men.

Nedd drawing his sword steps in between the two groups as the Baratheon soldiers and Kingsguard look on. "This was a legal duel fought exactly to the terms agreed. Now stand down. No need for more death." The Lannister men hesitate seeing as they are outnumbered and the King is not siding with them.

Gruffly Robert commands using the voice that rung throughout the Trident on that faithful day, "Enough of this. Jamie lost because of his arrogance and lack of ability. The foreign prince won. You'll have your favor. Now Nedd to the crypts." The commands of the king, stopping the chance for fighting as Nedd and Sir Barristan move to break up the crowd.

Cersei charges Robert yelling, "You can't do this to my brother. I want their heads. They killed my brother. It was murder." Her continued ravings are making a fool of Robert with each outburst. Losing his temper again he strikes Cersei across the cheek shutting her up.

Screaming back Robert says, "Yes your brother's dead and it's his own damn fault. Now stop this uselessness and shame to our houses and Kingdom. Know your place."

Cersei stunned by the blow and chastisement just sullenly glares at Robert, Nedd, Rhaltas, and the other elves with a stare that promises a long painful death.

* * *

Robert and Nedd leave heading to the crypts while the three elves return Cersei's glare with a look that reads you are nothing. This angers her even more, being ignored, being considered weal, being disregarded. Her sense of entitlement and vanity have been bruised and she going to lash out at those who have wronged her real or imagined.

In the crypts Robert and Nedd talk about the past and how uncertain the future looks. Robert tells Nedd that he is the last friend and person he could trust and wants him to be his next Hand of the King and marry Sansa to his son Joffery. Nedd on bended knee agrees. "Good," says Robert, "With you by my side Nedd we can rule this kingdom right."

As the court disperses a single figure looks at the spot where the knight fell. He is a small man and the only person who has ever cared about him died. As much as the loss hurts the opportunity it presents is unmistakable and only an idiot would not capitalize on it. Still how this came to be leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and a potent lesson about humility and never underestimate an opponent. He walks off to find some release in the local girls of comfort.

* * *

In the frozen north the reformed ice palace has drawn the attention of a band of wildings. In the depths of the twisted fortress its mistress stirs. Picking herself off the floor of her sacrificial room, Vanmoriel feels the strangeness of this world. With a groan she walks over to a mirror and gazes into its crack glass. With a twisted smile she her same dark beauty looking back at her. Her magic however she feels has grown more powerful and colder. With a cruel laugh she dresses in the traditional grab of the sorceress; Metal bra covered in dark purple leather attached to a two-layered leather collar. Dark metal plates cover her arms as vambraces, Lather belt is attached to her waist and from it hangs a long piece of rectangular cloth covering her modesty. From the back hangs a skirt that covers her backside and legs. The last piece are knee high heeled boots. With a circle of onyx and black diamond's adorning her brow she sets to find the idiots who set off her wards.

The wildings walk through the lower levels eyes wide in wonder at the majyesty of the tower. Hoping to find some good loot they don't notice the shadows growing longer or the air getting colder with each step. The party consists of eight men and two women. All of them young this is their first foray away from their tribes with an older warrior to lead them. Entering the main hall shadows suddenly engulf them.

Staying calm they ready their spears, axes, and swords. Harsh laughing unnerves them as they slowly walk backward trying to escape the laughter, "Come now little ones it has been long since I have had vistors. Stay awhile, entertain me my guests." With that a feeling of dread encompasses them halting their movement. Out of the darkness steps Vanmoriel dress in her seductive finery. "My my what interesting little mice I have. This is an unexpected reward. Ten young humans ready to enter my service."

"We are no one's slave, whore," shouts the leader of the wildings the man with the ax. "We are the free folk, we don't kneel."

"You will before me." Commands the Druchii in a lust filled voice that causes one of the women and two of men to shudder in devotion. With a predatory smile Vanmoriel looks back at the leader and casts a spell. Uttering a twisted word the wilding screams in pain as the magic courses through his body. Looking at the ax-wielder with glee, Vanmoriel speaks again and everyone watches as dark tendrils impale the poor man stealing his very soul slowly and painfully. With relish Vanmoriel consumes it. Gathering her magic once again she burns down the leader with a bolt of black flames.

Looking at the three wildings she noticed before she asks, "You wish to live right?" seeing them nod she continues drawing a black blade dagger she throws at their feet. Allowing them to move she commands, "Prove it and slash your palm with the blade and you shall live as my servants." They do so without hesitation. Feeling their compulsion Vanmoriel laughs and orders them, "Kill the other men and bring me the girl." Her new slaves obey without question as they hack their friends to pieces. Some die in more agony than others. The girl is placed on her knees before the dark elf. Vanmoriel caress her chin and speaks into her ear, "Now now you will grow to love my touch. At least for a little while." Looking up she says, "Take her to my chambers and chain her to the wall then go to the slave quarters and take the first cell. Do what you wish with each other." With that command the two men look hungrily at the lone woman.

* * *

Her use of strange dark magic resonates throughout the north. Beings that have just recently woken feel the disruption as do their ancient foes. Both sides sends agents to discover the source. One sends only a single scout the other a small war band lead by a creature of dark winters and legends.

* * *

Across a narrow sea a wedding is being held one that will have a major impact on this world in the coming months for the magics recently worked on this world have revived a trio of eggs given as a gift. All that is needed for them to hatch is sacrifice for there is power in blood and fire.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed it. Please Review.**


	3. Heading South, Gathering Storm

**Sacred Duty**

**Chapter 3: Heading South, Gathering Storm**

The feast celebrating Robert's arrival was a subbed affair. Cercsi did not attend and that allowed for her dear husband to drink and whore without any guilt. Joffrey too is having difficulty getting over his uncle's death but his in his warped head he thinks he is entitled to being taught by Rhaltas since Jaime was his one-time sword instructor. He is spending a great deal of time getting on the Asur Prince's nerves and getting more and angrier at being ignored. If it weren't for Tyrion's timely intervention Joffrey would not have made it out of the North in one piece.

Joffrey's little temper tantrum shows Sansa a different side of the prince. One that hopefully punctures her fantasy about princes in shining armor. Unfortunately for the high elves Sansa looking at Joffrey and then at the High Elves she shifts her object of desire and hero worship. To her now the behavior of the Caledorian Princes are epitome of desire and perfection and is dismayed at being forced to marry to the young prince. Her thoughts are interrupted when Arya flicks a wad of mashed potato at her.

With a grin she runs off into the general chaos of the party with her brother Robb hunting her down to placate angry sister and mother. The only Stark absent is Jon. Catelyn not wanting to suffer the only remember of Nedd lapse in honor. Jon is currently taking his anger out on the training dummy when his uncle Benjen shows up from the Wall. Talking with Jon and Nedd about some new rumors of demon of the North he tries to dissuade Jon from joining but the bastard wants to step out from that shadow and wants to go somewhere blood and title does not matter. Tyrion joining at the end of the conversation expresses an interest in seeing the Wall would like to join them.

* * *

After the feast ended Robert announces Nedd to be his hand, with much cheering the hall empties leaving Nedd with his sons and the three elves. "This duel with the Lannisters will have things tension for long time. Since I'm taking my daughters south with me, Robb you will be Lord of Winterfell in my absences." Keeping the letter he got from Cat's sister to himself he goes on to dismiss his son and talk to the princes. "I ask you to join us at Kings Landing, it will put you in danger but you will access to greater libraries and stores of knowledge. Plus I could use three skilled fighters who have no real ties to any of the great houses."

They share quick subtle glances and Rhaltas cocks his head in amusement, "I said earlier Lord Stark that you have our aid. You insult us by asking in such a begging manner. Yes we will join you for it will be a benefit the both of us." Rhaltas sticks out his arm and embraces Lord Starks forearm, the symbol of comradeship among warriors. This man, Rhaltas thinks, would do well in the Empire or in the woods of Chrace or Cothique.

* * *

It is a month long journey that the Northmen and the elves endure with the ever constant glare of the Lannisters. In Casterly Rock Tywin's rage at losing his heir and the humiliation suffered grows with each passing day. Yet he can't act for the murders are under the protection of Nedd Stark and by extension the King. As powerful as his banners are they are outnumbered by the storm lords, the North, the Riverlands, the Vale, and Kingdom of Dorn. Open war would bring ruin to his line and that is something Tywin can't stand for. King's Landing is a dangerous place after all he is sure he could arrange something.

While the elves travel south, Jon and Tryion travel north to the Wall and Castle Black. The Watch is an order of brothers who in ages past where honored for their sacrifice in manning the wall against the foes of winter. Now they are a shadow of their former selves. Trained warriors replaced with criminals. Trusted brothers with the pick of the dungeons of Westeros. It is up to a few true leaders and warriors to get the best of the poor collection of men they have. Once the Watch was at least twenty thousand strong now Castle Black, their main fortress, barely holds five hundred. Against them in ages past were demons of cold and winter, the Others and their wights. The ones that are killed by the Others or perish beyond the Wall are brought back as beings of cold that seek the deaths of the living, of the warm.

* * *

The wilding tribes near the Ice Tower of Naggarond, as Vanmoriel decided to call her fortress, have been wiped out or enslaved by the dark elf. Her hall is filled with drugged incense as her slave are arrayed around her catering to her every whim. Their blood she thinks is a better quality than humans from back home, lacking the ever present taint of chaos. It is a pure sweet wine, a heady brew that she indulges in daily. Still she misses the caress and feel of her kin, these humans though distracting are not the same. Worse still she can't summon demons to this world. The warp has only enough influence to lend her spells power.

Sensing the approach of the Child of Forest and the band of Wights lead by an Other. She smiles as takes her stave and walks to her balcony to greet them. As the cold wind whips through her clothes she leaps into air and invokes the powers of the warp to arrest her fall. Floating down she senses one of them hesitate, this one feels like the Asari, nature magic. The others feels twisted and wrong like chaos or dark magic, something she intimately familiar with.

With a word the billowing winds stop and the skies clear. The Other has his wights thralls array themselves in front of him as a shield. With a roar several shards of ice meters long spring from the ground and are launch at Vanmorial with a gesture. She slices her arm in a sharp downward motion, unraveling his pathetic attempt at magic. The ice shards spiral out of control and fly off into the distance. Creating a sword of accursed hoarfrost the Other commands with a flourish the wights charge.

With a laugh Vanmorial directs the winds of magic into a cloud of sickly yellow vapor and throws at the charging zombies. Unyielding they charge into the gas. With each step their flesh melts exposing bone. They do not stop, they do not scream. Another yard all their flesh is gone, their eyes running like tears down desiccated cheek bones. They do not stop, they do not scream. Another yard their bones crumble, becoming ash. The cloud is dispelled and the ash is removed with a quick guest of wind.

With a swing of the ice sword an icy razor wind whips up in response. Ice shards flash and crack through the air craving thick gashes in the ice and rock. With a look of gleeful anticipation he watches the strange women rises her hands above her head, arms shoulder with apart. A colder stronger wind pours forth from behind the women. Her dark purple hair whips wildly giving her a look of insanity. The _chillwind_ spell over powers the Other's frost. The valley fills with white snow and ice. Once the spell dies down the wights are encased in ice along with their master.

Pointing one arm out fingers spread wide and a brace of ethereal swords appear around her. They short forward as if propelled by a ballistae, spinning widely they shattered the encased Wights. Melting a portion of the ice covering the Other's head Vanmorial places one long nailed finger on each of its temples. Delving into its mind she is delighted to find a demon, one so weak and easy to subvert to her own cause. Using Soul Stealer she consumes its essences and its power. The knowledge of time before time floods through her brain creating a heady mix.

In her high state she pours too much power into her next spell. She was going to capture the Asrai-like nature user but instead invokes Arnzipal's Black Horror. A pit several yards wide forms directly beneath the child like being. It desperately tries to dispel the vortex, its weak version of the Lore of Life does nothing to the expanding pit of abyssal darkness. Slowly with great pain it feels each part of its being torn off and reduced to a demon's food. As her flesh is consumed by the warp energies as her soul is being feasted upon by the demonette's of Slannesh and the banshees of Mori-Heg. Pleased with their meal the Child of Forest now resides in two hells for the rest of eternity in torment.

Still enthralled with battle-lust she summons several of her slaves. Like zombies the broken wildings walk toward their mistress slowly still suffering from her cruel whims. Drawing a dagger she dances among slicing into skin and bone. Keep in place by magic they can only scream as they are killed by a thousand jagged cuts. As their blood is done staining the snow she cuts off certain limbs with surgical precision. Arranging them in an eight pointed star, a mix of the Other's demon ritual and one from her former home. She chants words of power, words of death, and words of cold servitude. One by one the dead wildings open their eyes, their vibrantly blue eyes. They rise silent as the grave and bow before their creator.

Walking among them she brands them with wards of protection against fire. This will greatly reduce their known vulnerability. She commands to attack the nearest village some weeks march and bring back as many bodies as possible both living and dead. Without a word or emotion they walk off into the bleak landscape heading toward unknown paths and passages. Smoothing her hair and licking the blood from her blade Vanmorial feels like celebrating this discovery. Several of her slaves won't be alive come the dawn sun.

* * *

They have been traveling for a month and had endured the hate filled glares from a third of the party. Westeroes reminds them much of the Empire except there is less trees. It is just as cold, dirty, and poor compared to the glory of Ulthuan. Half way to Kings Landings they have discovered an important clue as to the location and identity of the dragon queen that Asuryan spoke about. A Daenerys Targaryen and her brother Viserys have been living in Pentos and have recently gained a husband and a large army.

Robert adamant that the threat of the dragons be ended once and for all. He advocates hiring assassins once they reach King's Landings. Nedd and Rhaltas who are listening to his rant disagree. Nedd because they are just children and don't have the means to invade, plus using assassins are dishonorable. Rhaltas because the use of assassins in the manner of the druchii and this maybe the person who they have been command to aid. Thus do the two men further strengthen their bonds of respect and gain the short-lived ire of the king.

The other two people who have impressed them on this journey is Sir Barristan, who is a great warrior even by elven standards. He is the only one which Rhaltas and Hirveren can practice against. Robert tried and ended up on his kingly ass after the first pass of the blades. The other person is Tyrion who fresh from the wall passes on ill tidings from Lord Mormont. The number of missing rangers has increased along with the number wilding's coming south. All of them saying the same thing about a demon hidden in the far north. A foul Mistress of the Cold that dances in the blood of her victims. Tyrion dismisses as simple superstition and fairy tales, but Lord Mormont requests more men and supplies.

Thelian sick of talking to his brothers enjoys talking with Tyrion, who he considers the only human in Westeros to be intelligent. Tyrion as much as he enjoys learning about Caledor and the experiences of Thelian he can't get rid of the small amount of rage he feels at the loss of Jamie. Still unlike his idiot of a sister he understands the notion of friends of convenience and learning about your enemies. Next to that rage however lies joy at having father denied his prized heir and now he will have to be properly acknowledged. If this gets him Casterly Rock then he will mourn his brother from its great hall once father passes.

* * *

Across the Narrow Sea in the land of Essos a dothraki horde larger than any other has been gathered by Kahl Drogo. It numbers over forty thousand warriors with a hundred thousand camp followers. Desiring a woman of royal blood he meets with Ilyrio Mopatis of Pentos. He is sheltering the exiled and last two survivors of the Targaryen line. Mopatis is among a small group of people who want to see a Targaryen sit upon the Iron Throne, as well as make a fortune from helping with that endeavor. Thus he brokers a deal between Kahl Drogo and Visery; Drogo gets Visery's sister in return the young king-in-exile gets an army to win back his throne.

At the wedding a shy broken Daenerys was presented with numerous gifts as the dothraki before her drank, danced, fucked, and killed each other in way of celebration. As the wedding came to a close Daenerys was presented with several gifts. The first was books and stories of Westeros from the disgraced knight Sir Jorah Mormount along with his oath of service. The second was fine silver stallion from her husband the Kahl. The last gift was from Ilyrio, it was three dragon eggs. Time has turned them to rocks. These three eggs hold the greatest treasures of the world if they hatch.

Similar to the dragons of Caledor, the dragons of Valyria need both heat and magic to thrive. After the three dragons of Conqueror the dragons they sired were smaller than and not as powerful as the dragons that lived prior to the Doom and the extinction of the Children of the Forest. With the coming of the Asur, Druchii, and the reawakening of the Others magic has reentered the land. Though the strengthened magic is colder, dark, and corrupted the eggs still response to its caress and feel warm to Daenerys's touch. Across the Narrow Sea, hidden in the riverlands lay two dragons, one that could rival the power of the Black Dread and one that has surpassed it. They too sense the eggs and sing the ancient dragon songs hoping to spur their hatching.

With the wedding over the Kalhasar disperses and leaves Pentos for the city of Vaes Dothrak so that the crones can give Daenerys her prophesy. That night Drogo approaches his new bride. She is young, naïve, and scared. Years spent with her half-mad abusive brother has stunted her growth. She cries as her new husband removes her thin dress. With little resistance Drogo consummates the marriage and carries a crying dragon queen off to their tent in the deeping darkness of the night.

* * *

The Royal procession has set up camp for the day within sight of Kings Landing, Robert wants to enter the city during the morning to see the small people and at night like a thief. The elves were not impressed when asked to comment about by Eddark. "Its walls and towers would mark it as a weaker city. They are however the closest in scale to the standards of Ulthuan. Also it lacks defensive depth by the gate by the river. It is just asking for an attack there. Then there is the lack of siege weapons to hammer your foes from afar. Ulthuan fortresses and cities are ringed with scores of ballistae capable of firing a single large bolt or a clutch of six smaller bolts every few seconds. Enemies that attack Ulthuan do so under a sky filled with arrows. Still it would take a sizable army to conquer it because of the three large hills that holds the Keep." States Rhaltas with disinterest. Robert scoffs at the notion saying how this was created by Aegon the Conqueror.

"Yes he was a powerful warrior and great king according to the histories. Yet Valyria had so much and was laid low regardless of how mighty it was," rejoins Thelain.

Before Robert or Nedd could reply Hireven continues, "Unlike Dragonstone which was made with Valyrian techniques that could not be copied and are more advanced than your own. King's Landing and the Red Keep were made with Westerosi stone and building practices. It does not have powerful magic coursing through it as does Dragonstone thus it is inherently weaker. Unless you claim that stone wrought only with human hands are superior? I would then look to Harrenhal as an example of that foolishness." Unable to reply the two proud men looked like they should back down and concede but honor demands that they try to win. The argument is broken when Sansa and Joffrey come running into camp yelling, with a screaming Arya behind them.

* * *

"What is the Seven Hells is going on?" yells Robert. His loud rage-filled roar silences the squabbling children. Then he notices Joffrey's arm is bleeding and calls for a maester to attend. He then questions the three on what happened.

Joffrey seeing this as a chance to get revenge begins, "I was walking with my betrothed along the river and came upon her younger sister and the butchers boy sword fighting." Seeing an opportunity in his warp mind to impress Sansa, he mocked Arya and forced the butcher's boy to fight him. Joffrey had a steel sword whereas the commoner had but a sick. "If the commoner wanted to play knight. Since he was so intent on being a knight I challenged to a duel. We had one pass of the blades. Then this girl," pointing at Arya, "Interrupts and has her wolf attack me." Joffrey says finishing the lie that he knows his mother will believe. Since in her eyes he can do no wrong, especially after his uncle died.

Cersei believing her son commands in an angry tone, "This girl threaten my son's life. I want her punished and her pet killed." Robert not wanting another fight is inclined to agree with his wife just to appease her growing fury.

Before rendering his judgment Thelian interjects stopping Nedd from arguing. "There seems to be other witnesses than just the prince. Let them tell their side of the story so you may judge fairly your grace." The last part had that same mocking tilt that grates on Robert remaining pride.

Heeding the elf's council Robert agrees and turns on the two girls. Question Sansa first he gets nothing from her by evasions as she does not want to betray her sister or anger her future husband. With a sigh from Robert and an outburst from Ayra, Sansa runs away from the group with one of the Starkmen trailing after her.

* * *

"Your side and be quick about," says Robert to Arya.

After taking a few breathes to calm down as Hirveren once instructed her. She starts off, "Mycah and I were playing at sword fighting with a pair of sticks your grace. It was nothing serious and he was treating me with respect. Then your son and my sister joined us. Joffrey, your grace, openly mocked me and Mycah. Challenging him to a duel, while using a real sword against a stick. I tried to ask him to stop by he cut Mycah cheek and I hit him, trying to get the sword from his grasp. Joffrey then turned and was going to strike me by Nymeria protected me. I then throw his sword into the water as a lesson not to harm people who are smaller than you."

Sensing the truth from Arya and wanting to placate his wife Robert was about to order the wolf killed and the matter forgotten when the Hound rode into camp with the missing boy, dead on the back of his horse. He gruffly says that, "The prince ordered me to get the boy for harming him. So I did." With that he dumps the body and rides off.

Nedd disgusted at this wanton cruelty looks at Robert, "Are you really going to believe your son. My girls are raised well you know that. They wouldn't lie to you or act in such a manner. Plus the direwolves were raised properly and are devoted to their masters. Nymeria would have only attack Joffrey if he was threatening Arya, your grace."

Robert surrounded on all sides by his wife, friend, the elves, and the obvious truth and lies comes to a decision. "This is a complete and utter waste of time. Nedd keep your daughter away from mine and I'll deal with him and his dog." With that the incident was closed. It was reopened when Sansa and Arya got into a heated argument that lead Nedd to separating them before a fight broke out. Thelian went to Sansa as he knows Rhaltas could care less and Hirveren is going to talk to Arya. That night they told the two girls a watered down version of the Sundering and civil war between Caledor the Conqueror and the Witch King Maliketh. It was a lesson in needing the bonds of family and never to have them whither. Lest someone uses them as a weapon.

* * *

The court enters King Landing to cheering crowds and much fanfare. Making their way to the Red Keep the Starks and their party move into the Hand of King. With the three Asur Princes getting rooms halfway up the tower, a better position Rhaltas claims to protect the children and the Hand. To form a solid position to have the bannermen rally behind. Robert once settled goes off hunting leaving Nedd to meet the small council consisting of Maester Pycelle, Lord Petyr Baelish, Lord Renly Baratheon, and Lord Varys. These men all look at Nedd with the exception of Renly as a disposable pawn who will be easy to control. Nedd's sense of honor will do him no good in King's Landing. He can't bring himself to play the petty games of the councilmen, which will be his downfall.

After the first weeks of settling in have ended Nedd goes on the hunt for the truth behind Lord Arryn's death. Following in the footsteps of the dead man Nedd finds himself at a blacksmiths shop in Flea Bottom. Nothing special stands out, except that the boy Gendry has some skill and was visited by Arryn shortly before his death. Another puzzle to add to cryptic last words of a fever racked man. His daughters however are enjoying the city far more than he is. Sansa being the betrothed to the prince is waited on by a small army of maids. She is sampling the finest goods that the capital has to offer. The only sour note is that Joffrey has gotten sullen and even more spiteful since the incident at camp. She has to endure vicious verbal attacks at the slightest provocation.

Arya has taken to exploring the city and pestering her guards to teach her how to sword fight. They refuse as per her father's orders. She practices with needle, a rapier Jon had forged for her before they all left Winterfell. She smuggled the sword in her bags, hidden from Nedd. Rhaltas discovering this starts teaching her the basics of swordsmanship but tells her to find another tutor for his techniques are beyond her. Nedd upon discovering this hired Syrio Forel, a former First Sword of Braavos. His style that he teaches Arya is designed around speed and agility, something Rhaltas improves upon in their morning sessions before her formal training.

* * *

This goes on for a few months as Nedd gets disillusioned with ruling and fed up with Robert's obsession with the Targaryen exiles. That and he feels that he is getting closer to the truth behinds Arryn's death. The only noticeable incident that occurred was when a few assassins tried to kill the Asur Princes. They attacked them at night as the three princes where walking back to the tower on a street regularly patrolled by Lannister soldiers.

Emerging from back alleys a group of eight fighters draw swords, unlimber axes, and charge the elves. Without hesitation the three elves form a triangle and strike out lightning fast killing half the attackers with single thrusts and slashes. The attackers drop back to decide their next move when Rhaltas roars, "For Caledor." Charging his longsword blazes with powerful spells, he is a whirlwind. His blade everywhere, not one movement wasted. These humans have the grim honor of watching a Prince of the most martial of the kingdoms of Ulthuan fight. All but one lies dead. He tries to flee but his limbs feel heavy, his body slow. The last thing he feels is the cold gemstones of Rhaltas sword bashing in the back of his head. "Thelian if you please."

The mage cleaning his sword with a word of magic walks over the places his hands on his head with his thumbs on each temple. Whispering words in the magic tongue he takes glimpses of the person's memories. "It seems that a member of House Lannister of Lannisport paid these fools. We will tell Nedd in the morning."

That morning was a fateful one. Robert was severely wounded while hunting. Tywin hearing that his assassins failed and that Robert is on his deathbed raised his banners in the name of the Iron Throne to seemingly threaten the other houses to not start another war. Nedd learning that Joffrey and his siblings were not Robert's children is going to confront Cersei and sent a message to Stannis naming him heir as well as bearing a letter from Robert that he is to be regent.

* * *

It all went to hell very quickly. Nedd betrayed by the small council is arrested for treason. Robb hearing this raised the banners of Winterfell and headed south to rescue his father with an army of twenty thousand. Stannis figuring out the treachery of the Lannisters sends a letter denouncing the Lannisters as traitors and usurpers. He and Renly rise their banners in a bid for the throne. The capital is in chaos as the Lannisters take full control of the city. The Stark children and the Caledorian Princes are not slain but kept prisoner. Rhaltas has achieved that by invoking his owed favor which the small council forced Joffrey to accept over the protests of his mother. Thus a war begins.

Across the sea Daenerys has grown from a timid girl into a powerful young woman. Her husband has given her a child and promised to win her throne. The sight of brother's gold encased head marked the end of past and the fires the Khalasar made through the lands of Limb Men mark the future. One paved in Fire and Blood. It is in one of the villages of the Lamb Men were she rescues several women from rape. One of them is a blood mage of some power.

After Drogo is wounded in battle lets the wound fester, Daenerys pleads the mage to heal him. They are sequester in the Khals tent where Ser Jorah stands guard. As the blood magice ritual takes place Ser Jorah fights a short duel with one of the bloodriders. His armor defeats the speed of the curves swords that the Dorthaki favor. The next dawn comes with its price, Drogo zombie-like and Daenerys had their child as a stillborn deformed creature. The Khal disperses in chaos leaving Daenerys with a horde of one hundred boys, women, and elderly.

Seeking revenge she relives her husband of his suffering and builds a funeral prye for him. Binding the blood mage to it she also places her dragon eggs around the body. Lighting the wood she stares into the roaring flames. Feeling drawn to them she begins to walk toward them. Sir Jorah thinking she is about to commit suicide tries to stop her. "Don't worry Sir. Fire cannot harm a dragon," she says to him before disappearing into the blaze.

It burns all night and soon the cries of the burning woman ceases. Daenerys never uttered a word. As the night turns to day the fires die down revealing an ash covered nude Daenerys surrounded by three recently hatched dragons. Accepting the blanket from Sir Jorah she rallies the remaining Dothraki to her cause becoming a Khal. She then names her children. The white cream colored one Viserion. The green and gold one Rhaegal. Lastly the black one Drogon.

* * *

In Kings Landing Nedd has been in the black cells for several weeks as the nobles on the small council figure out what to do. Not wanting to fight the North as well as the Storm Lords they are going to offer Nedd a deal. Confess your treason and take the black. Before this could happen Rhaltas and his brothers decide to act.

In their warded heavily warded Sethai "spoke" to his rider telling him that he could sense the hatchlings. They are somewhere to the east. Turning to his brothers he asks, "Hirveren can you cast spells of tracking, detection, and long distance communication?"

"Yes they are basic skills."

"Good. I will break Nedd out of the Black Cells and bring him here. You two will find his daughters. Thelian you will then scry for his son Robb and teleport them to him. Aid the north in this war while we search for the Targaryens."

"Yes."

"Of course."

* * *

The three brothers leave their rooms under a glamour. Their guards don't notice until Thelian kills them with a word of power. They burst into flames and are burned to nothingness. Then Thelian replaces them with illusions and begins his scrying spell. Satisfied that he has found Sansa and Robb, he walks down the halls cloaked in magic. The city sleeps poorly now that the various great houses have raised their armies. Remembering the turmoil of the Rebellion the common folk hope this war ends quickly and they will be alive at the end of it.

Nearing her chambers in the middle of the Red Keep Thelian drops his glamour and runs the two guards though with his sword. With a gesture the door crumbles without s sound. He walks in as quiet as a shadow. Sansa curled up on the bed does not here the guards being killed. Reaching out he grips her shoulder and mouth. She struggles and tries to scream until Thelian calms her down. Bringing her back to his chambers he tells her to stay on the bed and relax. She lays there shaking and quiet as Thelian craves runes of warding, of power, control, distance, movement, and size upon the wood and stone walls and floors. They are going to be leaving soon.

Hirveren uses the same spells as his brother but cannot maintain them as long. His fail just as he enters the hallway containing Arya's room. His bad luck gets worse because the guards were changing and there are four of them. They stare at each other for several seconds before one tires to run away and rise the alarm. Calling upon the winds of magic he casts fulminating fire cage around them. The guards are stunned as pillars of raw flame surround them. "Run if you wish. Moving out of the cage removes it, but those trapped inside are burned to death. Also try not to yell." The stand as still as statues inside the rolling bars of flame. Walking over to the door he reduces it ash with a flick of the wrist. Walking in, he is confronted by an armed and dangerous Arya. He sees the same look of determination in her grey eyes that is common in Rhaltas's. "Come Arya we are leaving King's Landing."

"Not without my father and sister."

"Of course my brothers and I are rescuing them as we speak. Now hurry."

Before they leave Arya asks, "What about the guards?"

With some weird gestures Hirveren collapses the cage on the guards immolating them instantly. With a smile he leads her out and asks back, "What guards? Now let us go to my brother's room." The pair quietly makes their way back to Thelian's warded room. Speaking the passwords Hirveren enters and surveys the rune work with admiration. At times like this he wishes he was a loremaster and not a dragon mage.

* * *

"Your back," says Thelian without worry or looking up from his work. "Arya sit on the bed with Sansa and try to sleep. I don't need distractions. Hirveren you mine as well as join them." He says like this situation is an everyday occurrence. Sansa whimpers softly and Arya thinks cool. Hirveren about to curse his brother decides to let him win this little spar for the children's sake. He'll get even. He always does.

Two hours pass and Rhaltas is still not back. Thelian finishes his translocation circle looks at his brother and says, "He is taking too long. Do you think he will alert the whole castle?"

"We walked around under the cover of glamour's," Hirveren replies in High Elven, "Our dear brother is probably walking around in full armor like he owns the place. He has no sense of stealth or subtlety sometimes. Is the circle ready for a quick escape we may need it."

"Yes it is. I have also set spell traps in the hall and stairs to the delay the inevitable pursuit."

"Good. I'll stand watch while you rest."

"Thank you brother. For Caledor." Thelian sticks out his arm.

"For Caledor," replies Hirveren grasping his forearm.

* * *

True to his brother's prediction Rhaltas is walking the Red Keep in full armor both spear, shield, and sword strapped to his person. He calmly walks to the dungeons, any guards that do not show the proper deference to the "honored guest" is quickly scolded in such a manner that would make any drill sergeant or master-at-arms green with envy. Getting closer he encounters six men who won't yield to him. Stating that the Black Cells are off limits by order of the queen regent.

"If you value your lives," Rhaltas tells them, "Walk away now" The soldiers spread out while one tries to rise the alarm. With fluid grace the spear now coursing with lighting is thrown, impaling the fleeing guard, he lets out a loud death scream as his insides boil. "I warned him and you will perish." Drawing his sword he is amidst the group of soldiers in a flash. Swinging left and right limbs are removed with scalpel-like precision. Bodies are opened from neck to groin. Spilling blood, spilling guts, and staining the ground a sickly red. The smell of copper permeates the air. The sound of crashing boots and armor resound through the halls as more men come to investigate the sounds of battle.

Breaking down the door to the Black Cells, Rhaltas uses his advanced senses to find Nedd. Stalking up to the door he breaks it with a single slash. "Lord Stark it is time to leave."

Nedd looking haggard and worn stumbles from the confines of the cell. His wounded leg troubling him greatly. Offering the man a steading arm Rhaltas continues, "My brothers have rescued your daughters and are waiting for us. Can you stand? Can you run? Can you fight?"

"If I must."

"Good. Here is a sword one of the lion idiots lent me. It should work well enough. Also I took the liberty of securing your sword Ice as well."

"Thank you. Now let us leave."

The pair leaves the dungeon and encounters a mob of crimson colored soldiers. With a roar, "For Caledor and Ulthuan!" Rhaltas charges his spear glowing, pulsing, and crackling with tendrils of power. He reaps a grim tally as the brunt and bleeding fall to his spear _Cloud Ruler_. Nedd though suffering from lack of food, water, and still wounded fights with the savagery of a cornered wolf. His experience and skill apparent as he kills with powerful and brutal slashes. Slowly the dance of death and the song of ringing steel ends as the courtyard is littered with the dead and dying.

Rhaltas helping the exhausted Nedd to Thelian's room fights a running battle in which sees another score of Lannister soldiers butchered. Entering the corridor he quickly utters the passwords to the spell traps and they yield for an instant only snap back into place. Knocking open the door powerful kick he greeted by his brothers looking at him with knowing eyes as alarms and bells fill the keep with their loud brassy clangs.

* * *

Grabbing his girls they hug tightly Nedd asks, "How are we leaving?"

Thelian smiles and asks in return, "Do you believe in magic Lord Stark?" he says with a flourish.

"No. How are children stories going to help us?"

"Like this," replies Thelian. Grabbing them they are pulled into the circle as Thelian chants in the language of magic, "Lethodor… ithikitalkus maldifidii locitium… Kushat… Nal igira." With the incantation finished Thelian and the Starks disappear in a flash of blue-white light.

* * *

Hirveren repeats a similar spell, when finished he and Rhaltas are teleported in a burst of fire to their dragons. Jumping into the saddle the two drakes take to the skies. Their natural coloring quickly hides them in the night sky. "East. Fly east to the dragon queen and her hatchlings." Commands Rhaltas to the dragons. With a bellow the dragons wing east toward the land of Essos and all its wonders.

Thelian, Nedd, Arya, and Sansa reappear just outside the camp of the Stark host. "Do you believe in magic now Lord Stark?" Thelian asks in a condescending manner as outriders from the camp approach them. "What are you going to do now Regent of the Iron Throne?"

"Fight to free the North once more," replies Nedd, "And any who wish to leave the control of the Iron Throne."

"Good. I am at your service. I am a Loremaster of Caledor. An Archmage trained in the arts of war magic at the White Tower. With me at your side no host will have a chance at defeating King of the North." That las part was spoken with the barest hint of respect.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed it. The next chapters will be shorter and focus on groups of characters. Please Review.**


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